Corrupting Fear
by Crane's Fear Toxin
Summary: A brilliant doctor. A genius criminal. When their worlds collide, how explosive will it be? And how many will be caught in the crossfire?  Slash, rated for future chapters, NOLANVERSE
1. Chapter 1

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

The low tones of the clock in his office continued to repeat themselves, ever ticking, ever tocking. He found himself staring at the paper in front of him, crystal blue eyes not taking in the stark black ink on the white paper. The hypnotic sounds of the clock were distracting him, drawing him in. He was left listening to these ever repeating sounds.

The room he was in was big enough that the acoustics made sure that the clock continued to echo in his room. A desk in the center of the room was where he sat, his back facing a window, while his front faced the door. The window, like every other window, had bars on it, and was almost blocked by the bookshelf behind him, holding his psychology books, his research notes, books he favored and prized over all others. The chair he sat in was one with wheels and two black, plastic arm rests giving his arms support when they needed it. It was not an overly comfortable chair, but it didn't kill his lanky frame.

Certificates hung in frames on his walls, declaring him a doctor, a graduate, a licensed psychiatrist, certified to work in the hallowed halls of Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. Other than that, his office was rather bare. The door had a window on it, allowing people to see into the bare office. It was devoid of real personality; there were no pictures or personal objects. There was a plastic plant in the corner, but it did nothing to liven up the office. His name was in uniformed block letters on the window of the door, not that he cared. At least it wasn't on a plaque on the door, like some high school classroom.

It wasn't like the young doctor to get so distracted by the ticking of a clock that he could not focus on his report. The new patients given to him were of little concern, only enough concern to be sure that he would keep his job for a while longer.

But not today.

Today, Dr. Jonathan Crane's attention was fixated on the ticking of the clock.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

The pen was placed on the paper as Dr. Crane's hands came up, massaging his temples. The room was silent, as he preferred it, and one hand came up to pull his glasses off. One eye pinched the bridge of his nose. Blue eyes opened again as a knock sounded on his door. He could only make out a shadow of a form though the window. He was distracted for a mere second as he remembered the old, black and white private detective movies he had snuck around to watch as a child.

"Enter."

Crane's voice was soft, but loud enough for whoever waited on the other side of the door to hear him. He put his glasses back on as the door opened, revealing another doctor. She was a tall woman with curves that weren't hidden by the white lab coat she wore. A pair of black heels rested on her feet, leading up long legs to a black pencil skirt. A navy blue blouse was buttoned up to her neck, the high neckline perfect for the black tie she had hanging in front of her shirt. Her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not one strand left out of place, save for one curl that hung down, framing her face. Vibrant green eyes looked at him before she spoke.

"Doctor Crane, your newest patient has just arrived," she said. Crane nodded once before reaching a hand out. She passed him the file in her hand before she turned, walking out of the office. Crane made a mental note to make sure to get her name one of these days. She was a doctor at the Asylum, but he couldn't, for the life of him, remember ever being formerly introduced to her.

Blue eyes moved over to the file in his hand, and he opened the manila folder. A picture was clipped to the front of the file, but he ignored it in exchange of looking over the papers attached. There was a criminal record attached, that had a few pages of information. He skimmed it before lifting those pages to find the medical reports. His medical reports were surprisingly clear.

Still ignoring the picture presented to him, Crane looked over the psychological reports, the reports that interested him the most. He had been in Arkham a few times, though not so many that he had run into Crane before. Interesting…

Crane realized that the prospect of a new patient successfully distracted him from the ticking of the clock. However, he knew that it would be more important for him to finish the file he was working on for the other patient, so he set aside the new file and picked up his pen again. However, the natural curiosity that filled him caused him to glance at the picture.

The man in the picture wore a purple mask over his brown eyes. The smirk on his face was positively devious, as well as with a touch of arrogance, like he knew something no one else did. Over his shoulders was a green coat with black question marks, and Crane could see the top of a purple shirt under the coat. They were both clearly expensive and made of high quality material, perfectly tailored to his body. His hair was an auburn color, a little long, and in waves under a green hat with a wide purple ribbon around it, and a black question mark in the center. Crane's blue eyes looked over the name on the file once more.

_The Riddler_.

He made no sound, merely closed the file and turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk. It was then he noticed the clock once more.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

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Brown eyes were narrowed in agitation as the guards dragged him through the halls of Arkham Asylum. He heard the sneers, cries, and laughter of the other inmates, but he didn't bother to look up. It didn't matter to him what they thought, not even a little bit. Every last one of them were scum, completely useless to him in the long run. Not a one could hold a handle to his intellect. It was a moment of poor planning that landed him in here, but his great planning had already gotten a new plan in motion. He would be getting out of here soon, if everything went according to plan.

The cell was opened with the jingling of keys. The brown eyed man lifted his head to look at the familiar cell he was being forced into. Ah, so repeat offenses did have its benefits. This cell would be his, and would be his forever… Good. He had been counting on that.

The cell was bare, safe for a metal cot with a paper-thin white mattress, nondescript white sheets, a too-thin white pillow, and a toilet in the corner by a sink. He was pushed in and the door was closed shut. He backed up to the door calmly, his hands sticking out of the small opening, just big enough for a grown man's hands to fit through, and the guards removed his cuffs.

Edward Nygma walked around his cell, rubbing his wrists from the too-tight handcuffs. He took in his cell, without the comfort and safety of his mask. That, like his clothes and cane, had been confiscated during the processing process. He sighed, sitting on the cot before he decided to lay down, hands coming up to rest behind his head, a smirk on his face as he looked at the ceiling.

His thoughts were interrupted by an angry roaring sound filling the Asylum. He merely glanced over toward the see-through doors of his cell. Guards rushed by, guns and stun guns in hand running to the source of the outburst.

"Restrain him! Get him restrained!"

The cries were echoed down the corridor, and repeated by a few different voices; Edward was sure he even heard it repeated in another language! The roar he had identified as Killer Croc, and he was a bit glad that he was in the cell instead of out there. It wasn't that he was scared, necessarily. No, the truth was that he could talk Croc around until the wrestler was so confused he just let Edward go to shut him up. Or, he could talk Croc around in circles until he was devoured by the much larger man. But, the problem was that Croc was no fun, and his sub-par intellect was going to serve only to agitate Edward to the point of sheer anger. No, Edward didn't need that.

Another roar, followed by swearing that carried louder than the guard's yells, demonstrated that the Arkham guards had gotten better at stopping inmates who were out of control. Or, at least, had managed to restrain Croc and get him back towards his cell. Edward let out a sigh, though a smirk crossed his face again.

"My favorite home away from home. Some things never change..."

A thought occurred to Edward, and he sat up, hands coming back to hold him up. His smirk faded as he thought it over, and he looked toward the window against the far wall, too high up for him to look out, and too small for him to try to crawl out of. And barred. No surprise there.

"I wonder who it is that had the sheer misfortune to get my file… It is time for a new doctor, after all…"


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: Thank you to those who reviewed. I really appreciate it.

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Crystal blue eyes watched from behind the square shaped glasses as his patient paced around his cell. He had gotten his hands on the security footage, and from this angle, he could see the man walking around, his hands moving. Crane wondered if he was talking to himself, and made a note on the pad of paper he was writing on. Nygma seemed uncaring that anyone was watching him, though he would occasionally look at the camera, as though asking its opinion. He would continue on, as though the lack of a response didn't bother him.

Crane had been watching the security footage for a few days now. He had yet to approach his new patient, deciding to evaluate him without contact first. Nygma had no normal schedule, it seemed. Some days, he was awake as soon as the sun filtered through that small, barred window of his, and he was energetic. Other days, he slept until the guard came through with his meal, and he'd sprawl out in bed all day, talking to himself.

Nygma's file said that, for a little bit, he'd be confined to his cell with no visitors, other than the doctors, and his meals would remain there as well. He would not even be allowed outside for exercise. The only exercise the lanky brunette would get was whatever he did in his cell. Nygma usually didn't do more than pace around his cell, frantically moving his arms. Crane made a note to get some kind of microphone in his room, so that he could hear what it was the man was saying.

After three days of this scrutiny, Crane sent the guards to get his new patient and bring him to a therapy room. It was time to begin.

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Three days had passed without Edward meeting his new doctor. However, he had a feeling that his doctor was watching him, so the mastermind made sure to put on a show. He changed up what he did, never waking up and doing the same thing. He wanted to keep the doctor wondering what he would do next, as an elaborate part of the ploy he had in his mind. Granted, the doctor's refusal to see him was making it a little difficult for his plan to come into effect, but he was a patient man.

Edward's attention was captured by the guards coming, their keys jingling. He looked over, almost uncaringly, but continued his gestures. His mouth was moving, but he wasn't actually making any sounds. It was part of the fun of knowing that the cameras didn't have any sound.

However, as the guards stopped in front of his cell, Edward paused, raising an eyebrow. Three days were all his new doctor needed? Interesting…

"Nygma, you know the drill. Time to meet the doc," said the burlier guard on the right. Edward shrugged and moved forward, putting his wrists out through the slot, feeling the handcuffs snap into place. He took a step back, allowing the guards to open the cell, and then stepped forward to walk with them. Each one kept an arm on his, but at least this time he wasn't dragged down the halls like a bad puppy who had just released the contents of his bowels on the floor. He made a mental map of where he was going, comparing it to the other maps he had in his head of the halls of Arkham Asylum. He was going the same way he had gone one of the first times he was brought in. Ah, memories. He watched as they came upon a familiar door, one with thick, bulletproof steel. Edward doubted that the security was for the inmates as much as it was for the doctors. Oh, well.

The door opened with a loud, obnoxious _honk!_ type sound, one that Edward didn't want to worry about identifying. It was the same noise that the doors separating the patient wings made. He was put into the room, which quite resembled one of those interrogation rooms on those cop shows, except there were no cabinets, no mirror, no decoration. Just chairs bolted to the ground, and a table, also bolted to the ground. It was rather blasé, Edward thought.

The guards left his handcuffs on, but stepped outside the door. Edward examined the room for a mere moment before leaning back, managing to hide the wince as his sore back protested with a sharp spike of pain. The abuse he had taken from Batman, followed by the poor conditions of the metal cot he was told to consider as a bed gave him a sore back. Well, he'd fix that when he got out. It was high on his list of things to do once he escaped.

His attention was drawn away from the pain in his back by the sound echoing in the room as the door opened again. In stepped a slim, almost lanky man. He wore a pair of black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a black tie. They were under the white coat that identified him as a doctor, though Edward always wondered why the shrinks were the ones who wore those instead of doctors. He was sure that that was meant more for medical doctors than mental doctors, but he didn't question it. The man's dark hair was in almost perfect disarray on his head, and his crystal blue eyes seemed to hold little to no emotion behind the rectangular lenses of his glasses.

"Hello there, doctor. I suppose you already know who I am, but I'll be the polite little patient and tell you anyway. My name is Edward Nygma. And you are?"

The doctor said nothing as he looked at Edward, merely peering up at him over the glasses before leaning back slightly in his chair. The manila folder sat in front of him, the tab labeled with an impersonal white sticker that read, "NYGMA, EDWARD". Of course the man would bring his file in. Edward did notice, however, the man didn't have a pen, a pencil, pad of paper, tape recorder, nothing with him that would help him to record this interview. Was he going to use the footage from the security camera? That wouldn't be a good idea. Due to the serious rules of doctor-patient, or attorney-client, privilege, those cameras didn't have sound attached either. It was crazy how few cameras in this hospital had sound…

"Or you could not introduce yourself, but I feel we're getting started on the wrong foot," Edward said after a moment of silence, a pout forming on his face, though it was obviously fake. He was grinning slightly, even as he pouted. The doctor still said nothing, merely continued to gaze at the inmate. Edward wondered if he had made the right choice, and was beginning to feel agitated. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the voice that he heard was not his own.

"What do you speak to yourself about in your cell?"

The man's voice was a bit deeper than Edward expected, but the question he asked made him raise an eyebrow. Edward leaned forward slightly, though not enough to raise suspicion to the doctor in front of him. The man was cool, calm, and collected, his eyes merely watching with detachment.

"All sorts of things," Edward responded. "I speak of birds and cotton candy… Children's laughter…"

"You may be right. I believe we are starting off on the wrong foot." The doctor didn't seem aggravated or frustrated, just calm. The calm was almost annoying, in a way. But, it gave Edward a chance to think of ways to work on aggravating the doctor.

"But a first impression is truly the most important one, isn't it, doctor?" he asked. He intentionally trailed off a bit at the end of his sentence, intending to get the doctor to notice that he had not introduced himself. The badge typically worn by the doctors was not on this doctor, but the guards would not have let him in, had he not been cleared to come in with a patient. A game?

"So it has been said. What do you speak to yourself about in your cell?" Brown and blue eyes clashed, and that was when the doctor realized that the brown was more of a hazel color, shifting slightly toward green the closer to the pupil.

"Looks like you'll have to get some sound and figure that out. Come on now, doctor! Don't you want to hear about my childhood? This isn't the way these interviews are supposed to go! How about listening to how daddy abused me, or mommy never stuck around?" Crane moved and Edward smirked internally. Finally, a reaction! However, Crane's hand merely moved to open the folder, and he skimmed it.

"Edward Nashton, AKA Edward Nygma, or The Riddler. In and out of Arkham, formerly associated with the henchwomen, Echo and Query. Mother is not a topic you speak of, father physically abused you, turned to puzzles and riddles to prove superior intellect." Crane lifted his eyes to the man across from him, who merely watched him. Of course the doctor would go to the file and look through other doctor's write ups. Damn cheaters.

"Oh, that's all well and good, but are you really going to rely on other doctors' diagnoses? Aren't you more interested in finding things out for yourself, doctor?" Crane didn't rise to the bait.

"I have no intention on relying on subpar information," Crane said, his voice never changing in tone or emotion. Edward was amused, however, and was going to find a way to push this man.

"Before I am dragged out of the room by the guards, riddle me this, doctor." Crane had been warned that Edward would resort to riddles, and had been advised not to listen. However, Crane did not particularly care what the others had thought. He was going to conduct his patient interviews the way he wanted to.

"Very well, Nashton-" Crane didn't react to the sudden sneer that crossed Edward's face- "what is the riddle?"

"A poor, but smart, farmer is convicted of fraud against a rich governor. As these stories tend to go, he gets the death penalty for his crime. The judge allows him to say one final sentence before he is killed. If he speaks the truth, he will be beheaded. If he lies, he will be hanged. On the day he is to be killed, the farmer says one sentence that forces the judge to let him go free. What, doctor, did he say?"

Crane watched Edward as the door opened and the guards came in. Edward stood of his own free will and smirked.

"Until next time, doctor."

Crane watched the guards lead Edward from the room silently, his blue eyes moving toward the ceiling as the door closed. He closed the file, standing and moving, the door opening once more. He walked down the halls, smirking ever so slightly as he entered his office. For now, he could play Nygma's game.

Edward smirked as he was led to his cell and the cuffs removed. He rubbed his wrists again, more out of habit than anything else. By the time the next therapy session came around, he would know if this doctor was worth his time or not…

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**AN**: If you think you know the answer to the riddle, feel free to PM me, and I'll tell you next chapter if you're right.


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